A/N: So, this is… an AU, kind of darker than my last fic, but probably still not that dark. I'm really nervous about the feedback on this one, I'll admit. Basically Chandler and Monica don't know each other, Chandler has just broken up with Kathy and Monica is a prostitute. Please note that I'm not trying to make any kind of commentary or judgement on sex work, this is just something I really had to write. And sure, maybe it's a little out of character for Monica to be a prostitute, or for Chandler to ever pay for one, but please just suspend your disbelief. I've read stories like this for other couples but haven't seen this done before with Mondler and I thought it would be kind of interesting. So yeah, tell me whether it sucked or not. Actually, if you hated it, don't tell me – I'm fragile. I really didn't want to commit to another multi-chapter just yet since I have exams next month, but I just couldn't help myself – following what I have in mind, I think this will actually end up being longer than my last one. But we'll see. Hope you enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own 'Friends' or the characters.

I slam my drink down on the bar, unable to shake her memory from my mind.

She cheated on me. She actually cheated on me. She couldn't even spare the courtesy to break up with me before she went off fucking another guy. Her desire to fuck someone else was so powerful, so overwhelming, that in that moment, the love she said she had for me, the work we had put into our relationship, meant nothing to her. Just like that. A years' worth of love and trust and friendship just faded into insignificance. All because she was horny.

She said it only happened the one time, that my inability to get off of working late on our anniversary had been the final straw, pushing her into the arms of another man. The possibility that she was lying, that rather than spontaneous lust, the affair was the product of multiple calculated rendezvous', is almost too much for me to bare.

My throat stings as I down another shot, enjoying the feeling, how it complements the way my eyes burn with tears.

I feel so angry, but as much as I want to, I know I can't place all the blame on her. I should've been the one to make her feel that way, and I wasn't. It was my duty, as her boyfriend, and I failed.

I feel so inadequate, and so fucking stupid. I should've seen this coming. Our relationship had been falling apart for some time – it had stopped being about love and romance and had started to become a union of familiarity and convenience.

I was in denial. I'd thought, for once in my life, I was in a serious, committed relationship. I wasn't prepared to do anything that might mess that up, even though I wasn't truly happy. Despite the cracks beneath the surface, the relationship still meant something to me. I cared for her, and I never would've hurt her this way.

I indicate to the bartender to pull me another drink. He complies, all the while giving me a pitying look that I imagine he serves all his customers hoping to drink themselves into oblivion.

Looking back on our relationship – it's not like I can think about anything else – I decide that I probably wasn't in love with her. I thought I was, at the time, but if you have to think about it, is it truly love? I realise that I'm probably not going to miss her much – that losing her isn't the worst part about all of this.

It's what she represented.

She meant that I had someone. She meant that I wasn't going to die alone. She meant that I wasn't a dysfunctional fuck up incapable of having a real relationship. But I was wrong about her, and I was wrong about all of that stuff too. It's never gonna happen for me.

I had it, and I fucked it up. I fucked it up, as usual, because that's what I do. That's all I'm good for.

I hear a creak on the stall next to me, the sound interrupting my thoughts, and the quiet of the empty bar – a rarity in Manhattan.

I look up and see a woman, around my age, with dark hair and big blue eyes. My eyes flicker back down to the drink I'm yet to touch, not caring to engage in interaction with another human being so soon.

"That won't solve anything, you know."

My head jerks up, startled by her forwardness. She's leaning in a little now, and I notice that she has a smattering of freckles across her fair skin, like stars lit up in the night's sky.

"How do you know there's anything to solve?" I ask lamely. As if I couldn't be more obvious.

She snorts.

"So, you're chugging pure vodka, alone, for the taste?"

Feeling petty, I down the shot in my hand, not in the mood for her smugness.

"I'm not alone now, am I?" I counter.

She rolls her eyes.

I gesture to the bartender to bring me another shot, feeling her relentless stare pierce the side of my head.

"So, it's a girl, I take it." I'm not sure whether she means it as a question or a statement, but I splutter (on absolutely nothing, the shot still resting in my hand) regardless.

"W-what?" I say, stunning even myself with my lack of eloquence. I curse myself inwardly for being so transparent.

"Oh, I'm sorry, a guy?" she snickers teasingly.

I clear my throat, trying to regain my ability of proper speech, and my dignity.

"You're lucky it's not, because I'd be feeling really offended right now."

"So, a girl, then?" she repeats, refusing to back down. I sigh.

"Is it really so hard to believe that I just enjoy the flavour?" I ask dramatically, sipping on the shot to prove my point.

She shakes her head.

"Some people do, I guess." I sit back, hoping she's dropped it.

"But somehow, I don't think that's it." Her voice is gentle, understanding, for the first time.

What the hell.

"You're right. You're right, it's a girl," I begin, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. I sneak another glance at her face, and she would look apathetic, if not for the pensive gleam in her eyes. "Her name is Kathy. Long story short, we dated for a year and last night, she cheated on me," I recount as her mouth drops into a soft 'o' shape.

"I'm sorry," she says tentatively.

"It's fine, it's whatever," I reply, probably sounding like a whiny teenager but not really feeling like baring my soul to a stranger. I'm unsure as to why I've shared with her this much.

"You're better off without her," she says, meeting my eyes confidently.

I scoff. Like she knows anything.

"Why do you care?" I spit venomously.

"I... I don't care," she dismisses me, "this is what I do."

Wait, what?

"What do you doooo?" I drawl mockingly. She tilts her body towards me, and my eyes drop down, noticing her ample cleavage clad in a lacy black bralette-thing. She's also wearing ripped denim shorts, fishnets and knee high boots.

She begins drawing circles on my hand with her finger, causing my hairs to stand on end.

"I go to bars," she starts, "and when I see guys who seem down, I offer to take them home and… make them feel a little better. For a price, obviously."

I jerk my hand away from hers.

"Y-you're a h-hooker?!" I cry, alarmed.

"You're articulate," she smirks, apparently humoured by my reaction.

"B-but why?" I feel like I should run far, far away right about now, but I don't.

"Look, relax, I know what you're thinking. 'Whore', 'walking STD', I've heard them all, so save it, fella. Jeez, you guys think we're all dirty bimbos, regardless of how meticulously we use protection or how often we get tested…" she trails off, somewhere between a ramble and a rant.

"No, I just… why? I mean, you're beautiful, funny, smart" – I quickly cut myself off, realising that I'm probably doing nothing to discourage her advances.

She huffs.

"It's my life," she says defensively.

"N-no, I know," I stammer, not wanting her to misunderstand, "I'm not judging, I just… I don't understand." She frowns, like she was expecting me to say something else. "I mean… like, are you really living your dream here?"

She bites down on her lip, averting her gaze to the floor.

"If you must know, I wanted to be a chef." I raise my eyebrows, having anticipated actress or singer or something far more… showbiz. "I went to culinary school, and after I left, what with my debts and just a low-income job, it wasn't the most… comfortable of lifestyles. I actually started this a few years ago when a guy at a club hit on me and offered me money… I thought, since I was attracted to him anyway, it'd be an easy and painless way to make a few bucks. And so, after that, it just kind of… stuck."

I swallow, unsure how to respond, but my interest in this woman fully piqued.

"With the money I earn… it's addictive. It's kind of empowering. I bet I make more dollar than you," she quips with a smile, tugging at the lapels of my suit jacket. It suddenly hits me how close we are, and her scent is intoxicating, nearly knocking me off my stool. For some reason, this woman intrigues me, and I decide I'm going to do whatever I can to get to know her better.

"Let's do it," I announce, catching her off guard as she jumps back.

"W-what?!" she cries incredulously.

"Let's do it. I'm not kidding. I don't care what your rates are" –

"Why not?" she questions, panicked for some reason. Oh, shit. I can't seem too desperate.

"I-I mean. Look, I have really little life, okay?" – not helping! I scream internally – "before I started seeing Kathy, it had been a really long time since I… y-know". She chuckles at this, to my relief. "And I'm guessing, now that we're broken up, it's gonna be a while again… so I figure, why not?" She seems to be contemplating my seriousness, so I keep going. "And we're kind of… friends now, right?" She pulls an unconvinced face. It's a bit of a long shot – we don't even know each other's names. "You're the first person who knows I broke up with Kathy, and you basically told me your life story. That's got to count for something. We'll be, like, friends with benefits. With me paying you. But maybe don't think of it as a payment – think of it as post-coital compensation to make up for what I'm sure will be a less than stellar performance on my part," – oh my God, if she didn't think I was pathetic already, she does now. I feel my face heat up in embarrassment. Fortunately, she seems to find it endearing, because she breaks into a soft laugh.

"You know, just because we're 'friends'" – she begins, complete with air quotation marks – "it doesn't mean you get a discount."

I grin, strangely enamoured with this woman already.

"Okay, well, if you're sure. You're gonna have to sign a contract."

She must detect the confusion in my expression as she then elaborates, "all my clients sign one. It's to say you have a clean bill of health. Y'know, for legal reasons."

"Like any of this is legal," I say dryly. She punches me gently on the shoulder.

"There are a few other conditions, of course. Wear a condom, no eye contact, no kissing on the lips" –

"What? Why not?" I inquire, feeling shamefully disappointed.

"It's too… you know," her eyes dart to the floor as a blush creeps up her cheeks. "It's too intense. Too intimate."

"Oh, so we're having sex, but kissing is too intimate?!"

"We're not having sex until you agree to the terms and sign the damn contract."

"Fine," I tell her, defeated. She glares at me and neither of us make a move to leave.

"So… what now?" I venture, ending the silent staring competition we had fallen into.

"Are you sure about this?" She checks, and I nod eagerly, though I'm still not entirely sure whether I know what I'm getting myself into.

Something in her switches, and she slowly walks towards me, closing the distance between us, and suddenly I can feel her warm breath on my ear. I shiver, and become flustered thinking about the hold she has over me already. I can't believe I'm actually going to sleep with this woman.

"My name's Monica. Monica Geller."

I cough slightly.

"Nice to meet you, Monica Monica Geller," I tease her, "I'm Chandler Bing."

A/N: So… how was it? Good? Bad? Cringier than a 1980s porno? Should I continue, or would you be happy to see this story burn and die? If the reception to this is decent, the next chapter will probably be from Monica's point of view, and I'll alternate the two of them between chapters. I'm not sure whether I write a very believable Chandler perspective, this was my first attempt at doing so – any feedback would be gladly received. Thank you so much for all the kind responses to my last story – reviews to this would be much appreciated, too. :)